


Of Magius, Monsters, and Men

by logorrhea



Category: Kakumeiki Valvrave | Valvrave the Liberator
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Class Differences, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Political Intrigue, Separate Struggles, Slow Burn, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7521058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logorrhea/pseuds/logorrhea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recount of the years leading up to, as well as the aftermath of, L-elf's successful overthrow of the Dorssian Military Federation with particular emphasis on his <i>casus belli</i>, the indefinite imprisonment of the Dorssian Crown Princess Lieselotte.</p><p>A love story, in short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Urzeit

**Author's Note:**

> Although Valvrave has ended three years ago, I'm still not done stewing over how _shafted_ Lieselotte was at the end of it. So, this is my attempt to remedy that. This fic is heavily speculative and will diverge quite a ways from canon. I just want her to have a happy ending, alright? (Suffering incoming.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. primordial times

Back when they had bodies and memories to call their own, when names were rights and not privileges of the ruling elite -- back when their home planet seemed to be on the cusp of recovery and one could still see pockets of the natural world amidst the destruction -- she had been born.

The last child and sole daughter of the Magi Emperor, Lieselotte was born on the same eve runes had first been harvested. Though there were others born after her, both of noble and common blood, their lives were not worthy of being saved.

Lieselotte receives the Runic Mark before her own memories have formed. This is the most likely reason behind her attachment to her various bodies as well as her strange reactions to the usual method of harvesting.

Cain -- as he has been called since his fifth iteration -- is hand-picked from the royal corps to be her protector, a bodyguard for life, from form to form. Where Lieselotte forgets between the centuries, Cain remembers.

My sister, Amadeus had commanded of him in a low and dangerous tone, is not to be denied.

True, they were only half-siblings with thirteen decades between their real birthdays, but when they had emerged as the sole survivors of the original royal family, Cain does not begrudge his monarch such trifling sentiments. If he had any family left, he probably would have wanted the same.

Guarding Lieselotte is easier said than done. Though Amadeus made sure to eliminate the most damning outside threats, the greatest hurdle in his duties was, without question, his charge herself. When she wasn't ingratiating herself amongst the locals (for Amadeus had insisted his sister be a princess in every iteration and of course the country bumpkins across the galaxy would forever cluster about their royalty), she was chasing the wildlife, shirking her duties, and delighting in day-long expanses of hide and seek.

The worst, Cain concludes, is right before the harvest. Like everyone else in their species -- and quite frankly, every species across space -- he was able to differentiate between his own people and... others. Harvesting was as much as necessary evil as domestication and culling. Unfortunately the princess does not see things the same, no doubt having never known her true form.

She kicks up the greatest fuss, tears and screams and shouts, and even when Amadeus is leading her by the hand to the feeding chambers -- absolutely preposterous, if you were to ask Cain, there were other Magius starving for runes -- her bottom lip trembles as if her brother were leading her to the gallows.

As absurd as it is, Cain thinks her straying further and further from Magi ideals with each iteration. For one, she is either unwilling or unable to keep her host body from aging. For another, she hangs onto said host for as long as physically possible, nevermind that their lifespan was five years or fifty.

In short, she is entirely more trouble than she was worth and if there was anyone who Cain could admit it to, he would.

Which is not to say he wasn't fond of her. One couldn't care for a perpetual child for millennia without having some affection fester up. And Lieselotte was really a very sweet thing, if she could be rid of her misplaced sympathy for other species she would be an entirely likable creature. And there are times, especially in the youth of her forms, when she'll crawl into his lap and ask for her hair to be combed or braided or simply stroked.

Amadeus had walked in on the two of them, once, and his expression then was the softest Cain could recall seeing. He had stooped down to brush his fingers against the girl's cheek, careful not to wake her, before resting those same fingers against Cain's shoulder.

"Thank you," Cain had made out through his body's myriad ears as the dual heartbeat resounded throughout.

He was a soldier through and through. Amadeus' gratitude had been enough; the ascent to right-hand man was simply a bonus.

-

-

-

200 BUC

When they first receive information about a species known as 'Man', no one in the Council of One Hundred and One can believe it. Speculations of the whole planet being some cosmic joke -- or worse still, a trap -- floated around the meeting room. But when more and more data was collected and it became clear these peoples were plentiful enough to harvest for at least a millennia, Amadeus sanctioned the leave of scout ships.

After a couple decades, the scouts reported that these people, who referred to themselves as 'humans' were divided into dozens of warring factions. Though they were capable of space flight, they were not able to colonize their own immediate solar system. In addition to being bipedal and having an average lifespan of eighty years, even Cain must raise his eyebrows at the sheer number of them.

Eight _billion_ individuals, each one capable of storing runes.

-

150 BUC

When contact is finally made, the number has blossomed into ten billion and the warring factions have converged into three intraplanetary empires. Why the Council sets up base in Dorssia is anyone's guess. Regardless, they are fully integrated in a human's generation and, save for a splinter branch of scientists who ambitiously set up an alternative regime in JIOR, well on their way to cultivating a permanent source of runes.

-

-

-

60 UC

The official account of Red Thursday is as follows: an internal power struggle between the Russian Royalists and the German Militarists resulted in the triumph of the latter and the subsequent purging of the former. The Dorssian Emperor along his immediate family were all executed -- save for the Crown Princess. The remaining members of the Royal Family were shipped to re-education facilities so that they would be amenable to change their names and pledge allegiance to the newly-reformed Dorssian Military Pact Federation.

The reality is more convoluted, as is usually the case. While the majority of the Royalists were Russian and the majority of the Militarists German, most of the army commanders had sided with the Emperor. They were methodically replaced. Oddly enough, nobles tended to flock to the militarists while peasants clamoured for their god-sent ruler.

And in the backdrop of these machinations, Cain oversaw the checkmate of the Dorssian throne. Amadeus ascended to Fuhrer, gifting his right-hand man with the highest-ranking general and his sister with the crown princess herself.

And so it was that another iteration began. Lieselotte was young once more, Amadeus added yet another conquest under his belt, and Cain was free to oversee the expansion, so long as he kept the princess in-sight.

His begrudging affection towards Lieselotte keeps him from accusing her of starting it all. The finger of judgment points instead at the traitorous Magius who had fled to JIOR, taking top-of-the-line runic technologies with them. They had cut their own ambitions short in the end -- out of the same misplaced compassion, they had refused to resume their harvesting of runes. Their plots and dreams ended within a generation and JIOR was firmly entrenched in the shadow of the two superpowers as a result. At the end of Red Thursday, Cain himself goes to the fledgling nation to see the remains of his brethren.

The technology rests deep within a human school. Although he can access it, he is unable to actually control it. There is the most damning sequence of questions -- he tries every combination possible and still receives no response. Amadeus has need of him shortly afterwards so he returns from the module and makes his report and forgets all about the theoretical technology in the years to pass.

Still, if he were asked the same question -- Do you resign as a human being? -- his answer would have remained unchanged. There was nothing to resign from in the first place, after all.

-

It begins innocuously, with a routine round up of political dissenters. In the months following the coup, Loyalist factions have continued to creep about the woodwork. The internment camps have thrown off their re-education guises, marching with pride as the execution centers they had always intended to be.

Because the Council is awaiting his report on ARUS' technological advancements, he leaves his charge in the care of trusted guardsmen. Though they have not been brought into the fold, it has been stressed that the princess' safety is of utmost importance.

-


	2. Schicksalstreffen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. a fateful meeting

61 UC

The scrap of paper with his name scrawled on it is all he knows of a prior family. He doesn't remember them, doesn't even remember being left on the orphanage steps. Between the cycling not-siblings and the constantly-replaced caretakers, the one constant fo his early years was being cold, hungry, and tired.

After Red Thursday, the sisters who had supported the orphanage were gathered and shot along with the rest of the convent. He doesn't know how good he had it, until he's added helpless and terrified to the list of steady sentiments.

The soldiers round them up, shackling their ankles like cows to the slaughter before boarding them into a military cruiser.

Though food was scarce and attention scarcer back in the orphanage, he had never been so close to outright starvation. The internment camp they send him to is filled with other undesirables. They are called traitors and read wrongs and given nothing for the Dorssian winters.

As one, the older prisoners understand: their jailers are not here to punish them. They are here to watch them die.

Mikhail staves off any feeling of attachment, up until his last not-sibling passes in the night. Alexandre was two years older than him and he used his extra bulk regularly to bully the younger orphans -- himself included -- out of their rations. He passes away in a chilling euphoria, trembling and shaking and laughing.

He digs another shallow grave for Alexandre, fully cognizant that the other prisoners would feast on him shortly.

His life has always been worthless. And still, when he curls up and sees visions of the others dividing his corpse, he cannot stop himself from shaking. The little bit of Dmitri he had choked down bubbles to his throat. With blood on his lips and bile on his tongue, he slumps into his own mess and gives up.

The sisters spoke of a Heaven, at times. Of a warm place with enough to eat.

Mikhail gathers his energy to grab a handful of snow, wiping the blood from his face. In his eagerness to die, he fails to register the cold.

The same hysteria Alexandre had felt manifests in him and through the madness, he spies a small hole at the base of the fence surrounding the camp. He crawls over, still on his hands and knees, and decides in his hypothermic stupor, that the space beneath the fence would be ideal to spend the night.

Being eight years old, Mikhail manages to fit into the foxhole, curling up against the blessedly warmer earth before falling asleep.

Against all odds, he survives the night and wakes the next morning to the horror of being buried alive. After ascertaining the events of the previous evening, he digs his way out with trembling hands. The snow-covered world outside the fence is indeed accessible through the hole. He hears soldiers shouting for the capture of a child and immediately makes a run for it.

Cold, tired, and hungry does not a jailbreak make. He trips over his shackles and falls head-first into the snow.

Things happen so quickly after that -- it's less of a coherent sequence and more a chaotic splattering of scenes. There's a rabbit, a young girl, threats from the guardsmen, and the chambering of guns. When his vision stops swimming, Mikhail finds himself trembling -- one hand against the girl and the other on her hairpin, shouting threats he knows he won't be able to follow through.

It's absurd, it's suicidal. He's never killed anyone before; the hairpin isn't even sharp enough to puncture skin! If he killed the girl, they'd shoot him on sight, but if he let her go, he'd be just as dead.

And through the fear and adrenaline, one thought remains.

_I don't want to die_.

Not here, not now. Not ever.

The girl's words catch up to him and he blurts out the first protest that comes to mind.

"Y-You can't cut a life in half!" he splutters.

But he's no kidnapper much less a murderer and his hostage of one minute ducks out of his grasp with little effort. He sees his life flash before his eyes -- short and pitiable, but his all the same -- and watches, watching for the trigger, as she... well...

As it turns out, the hairpin _was_ sharp enough to cut through her hair, at least.

"Mother said this is a woman's life," she explains, as guards and prison stare as one. Something bitter wells up in the back of his throat as she walks towards him, offering him the chopped locks.

"Here," she adds, smiling, "Take it."

Though his hands are still shaking, he does as told. She gives him the hairpin too, patting at his closed fist before turning to the guards. "See?" she adds, smiling, "I've given him half my life, so please spare him, alright?"

"You can't -- " he tries, "But that's not -- " his gaze swivels from girl to guards but already, they're shouldering their weapons. He stares at her, then the clump of pink hair in his fist, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You'll need to get permission from the commander," the head of the guards gruffly says. The statement makes no sense to Mikhail but the girl -- the princess -- understands, nodding once before turning to him. "Come on," she beams again, "Let's go!"

-

Later, when Cain is back from the meeting and rubbing his temples and listening to the captain of the guards blubber about the girl chasing after a rabbit and returning with an escaped prisoner turned would-be murderer turned _ward_ , he wonders, not for the first time, how Lieselotte was supposed to have of a portion of their beloved Emperor's soul.

The boy looks terrified, eyes wide and clutching onto the princess like a lifeline. It's a good thing Amadeus is busy with the Council, Cain thinks, as it would be another headache and a half explaining how his beloved little sister ended up saving a human boy's life.

"Lieselotte," he beckons.

She steps forward, with the boy trailing behind.

"Lieselotte -- what happened to your hair?" How were they to explain _this_ to Amadeus, he has no idea.

"I cut it off," she smiles, turning to the perpetrator and taking his hand, "The guards wanted to take him away, so I asked traded half my life to spare him."

"Half your -- " Cain starts and then stops, refusing to sink to his ward's level. He shakes his head, sighing, before looking the street urchin up and down. "What do you intend to do with him?"

Perhaps her memory is better than he realizes, for she skips his question and cuts right to the chase, letting go of the boy's hand (much to his discomfort) and running over to the Cain, beaming.

"Does this mean I can keep him?" she asks, smile wide and eyes sparkling. Not even the lopsided haircut can dim her countenance. Cain sighs, unaware of how much he'll regret the concession, but pats her head and nods.

"Very well. But just this once."

She cheers and throws her arms about him and he allows her to kiss his cheek before bounding down and taking the boy's hand once more. Despite being understandably flustered, he dips his head in acknowledgment before toddling along.

Cain brushes a palm against his cheek before swiveling to his desk. He could write the new addition off as a playmate, he supposes.

A knock on the door interrupts his report. He caps his pen before clearing his throat.

"Come in."

"Sir," the captain of the guards salutes him, "I apologize for losing sight of the princess today. The threat to her well-being was entirely my fault and I am prepared to take responsibility for it."

"No, no," Cain excuses, shaking his head, "I understand how much of a handful she can be at times. The princess is safe and sound, I cannot ask for more." Well, save for a friseur.

"I told her to speak to you," the captain continues, "Regarding the orphan boy..."

"Ah, yes. That matter has been settled."

"Oh?" The captain raises his eyebrows, doing a quick scan of the room for bloodstains. "You -- you allowed her to spare his life?"

"Mm," Cain allows himself a smirk here, privately pleased that the customs of their own people were still embedded in the girl, however deep one needed to dig, "It is as she's said, a woman's hair is her life. If she's chosen to give half of it to the boy..." he shrugs, "Then by all means."

The captain furrows his brow, but knows better than to press the issue. Although he had been staunchly on the right side throughout the revolution, the fact remains that the remaining royal family members -- the crown princess especially -- enjoyed some small measure of old privileges, even in captivity. So he bows his head and does not question his commanding officer further and sure enough, Cain allows him to be excused.

-

After receiving permission from Cain to keep the boy, Lieselotte realizes she has no idea what to _do_ with him. Despite this, she manages to lead him with a sense of purpose across the west wing of the castle, holding onto his free hand while standing in the elevator.

The highest floor is her private residence, the high-risen cage to which she had been bound.

"Here," she gestures, "This is where I live."

As the imperial styling is all she's known, if it weren't for his wide-eyed reaction, she would have forgotten how _ornate_ everything was. From the jewel-decked seal of the imperial family to the seven-postered mattress -- she's read of others having less.

And then again, they have the whole world.

While the boy is craning his head this way and that, Lieselotte takes the opportunity to examine him. He's a little taller than her, but most likely the same age. His hands and feet are still red from the cold and his ankles are bruised from the recently-removed shackles. His clothes are ill-fitting and his lovely hair is matted and -- well -- there are so many things to do, she doesn't know where to begin!

Thankfully, his stomach rumbles then.

"Ah -- sorry -- " he stammers, flushing.

"Don't be," she pardons, only to be interrupted by the evidence of her own appetite. She covers her mouth then, giggling, before adding, "Let's eat first, shall we?"

He shuts his mouth with an audible clack of teeth before nodding firmly.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Food."

"Food...?" she repeats.

"That is," he looks away, "If you have any. To spare."

"How about... um... how about porridge then?" she suggests. When he nods again, she clasps her hands together, "Alright then, I'll ask the cooks for two bowls!" she skips off to the phone, dialing the kitchens with a racing heart. It's incredibly _fun_ , she thinks, having someone else around. Amadeus only ate with her at public functions and Cain considered it improper.

After she places her order and gives the cook a quick explanation of the situation, she runs back to find the boy seated cross-legged on the floor, staring at the gifted lock of hair.

"I ordered the porridge," she announces, dropping down to sit across from him, "It should be here soon."

He clutches onto the hair, lowering his head further before mumbling 'thank you'.

They sit in silence for a while before her stomach rumbles again.

"Ah," she giggles, "Are you going to hold on to that?"

"That?"

"That."

He follows her finger to look at his own tightly-clasped fist before jerking his head up with a panicked expression. "I -- that -- you gave it to me, didn't you?"

"I did," Lieselotte nods. "But you don't have to hold on to it forever!"

"But it's half your _life_!" he protests.

Their argument is cut short by a knock on the door.

"Princess," a guardsman calls, "Princess, your meal has been delivered."

"Let's eat," she compromises, rising to her feet and offering him her hand. He takes it but somehow manages to push himself up without relinguishing her 'half'.

The porridge is pleasantly warm and she sips at it with enthusiasm. She's a quarter done with her bowl (filled to the brim with toppings) before she notices he has yet to touch his own.

"Do you not like it?" she asks, setting down her spoon.

"No, I -- " he licks his lips, looking from his own bowl to her, "Can I -- can I really eat it?"

She tilts her head, confused by the question.

"Of course...?"

He looks so uncertain, still clutching onto her lock of hair. She smiles and nods, hoping to convey encouragement, and he finally picks up his own spoon, dipping it into the bowl. He eats three spoonfuls -- without meat or vegetables -- before setting the spoon down.

"What's wrong?" Lieselotte asks, "Do you not like it? I can ask them to make something else for you if..."

"No," he shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip, "No, it's -- it's good."

"I -- " and then it's _her_ turn to be flustered as his bottom lip trembles and then his whole expression seems to collapse and he -- just -- _cries_. When her increasingly alarmed demands of 'what's wrong' are met with more tears, her own frustration sends her into a similar fit. How ridiculous they must look -- two children sobbing while seated at the table of emperors, so young and small that their feet couldn't even touch the ground!

The boy recovers first, at least, wiping at his face before furrowing his brow.

"Why are _you_ crying?" he asks.

"Because -- " Lieselotte hiccups, "Because you were crying and I couldn't get you to stop...!"

"Oh." He sniffles and then rubs his nose, "I've stopped now."

"Why were you crying?" she asks as soon as she's able to. He's resumed eating his porridge at least, and even allowed her to pepper his bowl with choice bits of meat.

He casts his red-rimmed eyes away, struggling for appropriate words. "This is the most... the best..." and finally: "I've never eaten anything so -- so good."

"Oh." Lieselotte goes back to eating her porridge, mulling his words over. After she's finished (and watching him), she pipes up with: "Even though I've eaten this porridge before, I think it's most delicious right now."

"Is it different?" the boy asks between spoonfuls.

"Yes," she smiles again, "I've never eaten it with anyone before."

"Oh." He looks down and carefully finishes his bowl, taking care to eat every bit. "Me too, I guess."

"Do you want something else?" she asks, standing up, "Something sweet?"

"Something sweet?"

"Yes! Like here!" she clambers to the cabinets, grabbing at a bow-tied box, "Chocolates!"

The boy makes another small scene eating those two, and Lieselotte remarks that even chocolates taste better when shared. Which just went to show, she insists, that things cut in half weren't necessarily lessened. Or something like that.

By the time they're done eating, the sun has fully set and the upheavals of the day have caught up to both of them. They have one final argument on where he should sleep -- she ends up stomping her foot and throwing a princess' fit to get him onto the mattress -- but fall asleep soon enough.

It's so strange -- but wonderful -- to have someone else in her bed.

When he wakes her in the middle of the night, she sits up immediately, scared to have him leave.

"What is it?" she asks, looking at his faintly-outlined silhouette, "Do you need something?"

"I wanted to say sorry," he answers, "For threatening you and cutting off your hair."

"It's alright," she pardons, reaching over to pat his hand, "I'm glad you did."

He seizes her hand then, squeezing it, and the force of his movement reminds her, for one startling second, of Cain. Then he leans in and adds: "I'll never do it again. Never."

"I believe you."

"You gave me half your life. I'll repay you in kind, some day."

"Alright." She smiles and twines their fingers, falling back against the pillow, "It's a promise."

In truth, she would have been happy enough to have his company. In fact, it would have been more than enough.

-

Their time together ends the following morning when the Führer himself storms into the princess' chambers at the crack of dawn.

"Your Excellency -- " Cain tries, though he trails a reasonable distance behind.

Lieselotte wakes to the slamming open of her door and has all of two seconds to react to her half-brother hoisting the boy up by his neck.

"What the -- " the boy startles, thrashing violently.

"Amadeus, no!"

"Lieselotte," Amadeus growls, keeping her in check with his gaze alone, "What have I told you about entertaining company?"

"Amadeus, please -- the fault was entirely mine -- he'll suffocate like that...!"

"Lieselotte."

Her vision swims as tears spill from her eyes. "You told me -- " she chokes out, "That I must not."

The Dorssian Führer releases his hold on the boy to lean down and wipe at her cheeks.

"Precisely," he purrs, "Remember: there is no one else you need, and nothing certainly, a human boy can provide."

Said boy is bracing himself against the wall in order to stagger to his feet. He clutches at his neck, coughing and spluttering, and Lieselotte squeezes her eyes shut at the sight of it.

"I understand," she blubbers, "I'm sorry, Amadeus, such a -- I will not make such a mistake again."

"That's all I needed to hear," Amadeus smiles, kissing her brow, "You are still young, Lieselotte, and your position affords you such mistakes." He lifts her up and twirls her about, past transgressions immediately righted, and adds, "I'll send a hairdresser for you in the afternoon."

Lieselotte clutches onto his shoulders, nodding and sniffling.

"Your Excellency," Cain cuts in, stepping forth and pressing a hand to the boy's shoulder, "If I may make a suggestion regarding the boy..."

His charge tenses and Amadeus strokes her hair before smiling. "A suggestion, you say?"

"This commander has previously created a school for elite soldiers. The Karlstein Institute, if you'll remember. As the boy's reflexes are quite good -- he was able to escape the camp guards, after all -- I was thinking of recommending him to a place there."

"That's a splendid idea," Amadeus concurs. "See, Lieselotte? Don't look so sad, the boy you rescued will be given a most promising position!"

Although she has not heard of Karlstein, she doubts anything Cain and Amadeus would agree to would be entirely innocuous. She mustn't cry though, that much she knows. So she forces up a smile, not knowing that she looked all the sadder in contrast.

Cain, meanwhile, feels the boy tense at the princess' smile. There's a beat, then he breaks free of the commander's hold, sprinting back to the bed and grabbing something from underneath the pillow.

"What is _that_?" Amadeus demands.

"It's mine," the child answers, eyes blazing.

"I gave it to him," Lieselotte tries, "Please let him keep it."

Cain looks from the boy to the princess to the Führer.

"Well," he prompts, "Your Majesty?"

Amadeus purses his lips before shrugging his shoulders, kneeling down to set the princess back on the floor. "Very well," he ordains, "The boy may keep our princess' gift."

As Cain ushers the boy out and Amadeus stays behind, the children are not given the opportunity to say goodbye.

-

After Amadeus and the hairdresser have left and Lieselotte is alone once more, she takes the elevator to the library and peruses the documents for Karlstein Institute. It takes three and a half hours to find it, namely because it is not under any of the normal administrative files. In fact, the only trace she sees of the school is in the tax archives.

Her heart sinks when she reads the expenditures: the first thing the academy asked for was coffins. And then her gaze catches on the graduation rate -- 1% -- and she closes the book and weeps.

"I'm sorry," she whispers that night, hands clasped in prayer to an uncaring god, "I'm so sorry for taking you back here. I should have helped you escape, instead of condemning you to a worse fate. Please -- " _forgive me_ , she means to say, but can't.

Had Cain already brought him to the school? Had the training already commenced? Would she be notified if anything happened to him? Would Cain tell her if she asked?

As with all the nights before, save for the previous night, there is no one to hear her cry.

-

The boy is eerily quiet for the whole of the commute. Cain would have passed it off as shock had he not seen his eyes. There, in his openly intense gaze, was a mind that still worked.

Truth be told, even he was taken back by how violently Amadeus had reacted. Of course he knew the Führer was mortally protective of his younger sister, but he could but seeing the extent of his anger... well, it was an experience he could do without repeating.

Furthermore, the boy's reflexes were nothing special. Cain had simply felt affection enough for Lieselotte to not want Amadeus to kill in front of her. His plan is as follows: enroll the boy in Karlstein, wait for him to be killed in the first heat, and then deliver the joyous/heartbreaking news to princess and Führer respectively. What actually happens is: the boy exceeds expectations altogether, killing thirteen additional competitors in record time before taking first place in the second heat in a bloodsoaked frenzy.

And only then, when his gaze is unchanged and unfaltering, does Cain feel a sliver of vindication. It seems Lieselotte had good taste in human orphans, at least.

-


	3. Umbennen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. to rename

62 UC

Mikhail doesn't know the circumstances of the other children, but he also doesn't care. He's learned the name of his savior and all that matters is one day, somehow, going back to her and setting her free.

So he does as told and kills.

The art of murder is a learned one and he surprises himself, in retrospect, with how _well_ he managed, relying entirely on instinct. The fatal strike, he quickly realizes, is dependent on good build-up. One must be in the right time and place in order to kill, and a dozen correct decisions need to be made in rapid succession when your target is seeking to retaliate the whole way through.

Contrary to his other classmates, he doesn't feel anything. Indeed, he's certain he felt more sadness burying his compatriots from the orphanage.

The other children are warm blood-filled bodies. Nothing more than sacks of flesh standing in the way between him and the princess -- Lieselotte.

He doesn't know how he'll see her again, or even what he'll be able to offer, but the desire itself guides him through the death and darkness and becomes, in a sense, his personal guiding star.

When everyone else is dead and he has been given a new uniform and name, he collapses close to a dead faint on the barrack cot, clutching at the lock of hair like a lifeline. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds it to his cheek, trying his best to visualize her -- visualize the room, the castle, anything other than the bodies.

She doesn't even know his name.

-

His original designation in the Institute is M-7. M for 'Mikhail' and seven for the number of letters. He's placed first in a group of other M-6's of which there are two boys and one girl and after killing those three, placed in the 'M' group before emerging victorious from that exercise as well.

While waiting for the other students to finish, he toys with the lock of hair and thinks. Under this classification system, if Lieselotte were with him, her designation would be... either L-10 or L-9. Of course there was no chance of her following him here, nor would he want her to, but the thought of her sharing a similar name is heartening.

He is disappointed then, when the successor of the 'L' division is a boy named L-11. Somehow, seeing him, it feels like he has lost. As if Lieselotte has lost.

The first time he kills without being instructed to is how he obtains the name he'll go down in history for. Sneaking past the barrack guards is child's play; unlike the camp guards, they aren't expecting escape attempts. The boy who must have bested one of the students carrying Lieselotte's designation doesn't even rouse when Mikhail cuts at his throat.

The patch is already bloodstained when he pulls it off. Nonetheless, he thinks it looks most fitting on him.

"L... elf," he reads, tracing the outline of the characters.

L-eleven. One after Lieselotte.

He reaches for her hair and smiles.

-

Cain calls him in the next morning, sorting through death certificates at his desk.

"M-7," he greets, motioning for the boy to sit down, "The guards have informed me that you have been caught on camera stealing into L-11's room and killing him, all without provocation. Is this correct?"

It's all so surreal, having his own crimes read back to him. He nods, obediently adding: "Yes, sir."

"With no provocation?" Cain repeats.

"Up until the previous night, I have had no contact with him," Mikhail clarifies, careful not to use the boy's designation.

"Really now," Cain sets down his papers, raising his visible eyebrow. "And why did you feel it was necessary to kill him?"

"I wanted his code."

"His -- " Cain blinks, then stifles a laugh. "Ah. I see. Well, I cannot condone an especially eager student, now can I?" he reaches forward to touch the young boy's shoulder, "We'll write this off as an extra credit activity, alright?"

"Yes, sir." He salutes the other and they exchange the perfunctory 'Blitzendegen' before he excuses himself.

Cain calls for him at the doorway however, airily adding:

"Oh, and by the way, L-elf..."

"...Yes, sir?"

"See to it that others keep from such activities. We wouldn't want the whole Institute upended, now would we?"

"Yes, sir."

After he leaves, Cain makes quick work botching a death certificate. It was easy enough, between his rank and security clearance, to say that M-7 had perished in a routine training exercise.

-


	4. Heimlich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adv. surreptitiously

63 UC

When a small bird gives her the news a month after the reports had been published -- that the boy she saved had perished in Karlstein, Lieselotte is momentarily overwhelmed with grief.

How she regretted saving him, for it meant introducing him to Cain!

After having snuck into the military archives twice in the sixteen months since their first meeting, she has no delusions about the Institute. It is a training site for the regime's top-of-the-line death squads, where the not of age children of deposed peoples were sent. In line with the New Guinea Conventions, children could not be slaughtered off. Dorssia was not _so_ uncivilized, after all.

A traitorous part of her rationalizes that it might be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps it was better to kill than to be killed. For if the boy had survived, he would have surely ended up a murderer.

But what was she, if not a murderer? And who was she, to judge the other children who were clearly fighting for their lives?

No, if she is to honest, she would have wished him alive, regardless.

After Lieselotte has cried all that she could, she is filled with determination to see him off, at least. She had promised him half her life and had begged for mercy for him -- going to his burial was the least she could do.

A Royalist agent confirms the location of the Institute. It is a week's journey from the delapidated capital and unfortunately, none of the Royalists have clearance to take her from the tower. Her freedom was a privilege afforded only to Cain and Amadeus.

No, if she were to pay her respects, she would need to sneak out on her own.

-

At the next harvesting, Lieselotte does something unusual, in that she gorges a little. It's a subtle increase, but one which both Amadeus and Cain notice. Her older brother is pleased, thinking her to finally enjoy the taste, and she hides her heart by smiling.

Even a moderate increase in energy is palpable. As Cain has explained a dozen times, she is uniquely susceptible to the base form of runes, memories, as she had received their power before having formed memories of her own. Her senses are sharpened and the outside world seems almost accessible, for how clearly she can hear and smell it.

And still, she waits.

The opportunity presents itself two weeks after her feeding, a whole three months after the boy's death certificate had been issued. Both Cain and Amadeus are a ways away from the capital then, and she has received news that Cain is in space. Nowhere near the Institute training facilities, then. Clutching the last thing the boy had held -- her hairpin -- along with carefully wrapped rations, she uses a burst of runes to break apart the bars of the largest window. A second burst is necessary to land safely, and from there, she sneaks onto a supply ship headed in the right direction.

"Please god," she prays, curled up amidst the weapons and ammunition, "Please let me find him, somehow."

-

The murderous envy he had once felt towards the original recipient of his designation is now aimed at him. Killing each other was one thing, but sneaking into another group's barracks in the dead of the night was seen as the most underhanded and cowardly method of getting ahead.

Despite Cain's instruction that no repeat incidents were to be attempted, the main reason they remained attempts was because L-elf (as he has taken to thinking of himself as) does not know the meaning of 'sound asleep'. He begrudges mercy enough to not kill his assailants -- something his fellow students make him sorely regret later on.

He is fully aware, however, that his own jealousy was irrational. The jealousy his fellow initiates harbored on the other hand, was completely understandable. He not only excelled in the exercises and exams, but he had gotten away with a crime that, under normal circumstances, would have warranted reproach if not capital punishment. It was therefore clear to the other students: Commander Cain, for whatever reason, showed favor to the boy formerly known as M-6. No one was allowed to deviate from their initial designation. No one, it seemed, but L-elf.

Eventually, they grow tired of being struck down in the dead of the night. While nursing their wounded pride, they regroup and conspire under the swinging domed lights of the canteen.

The whispers go as follow: L-elf has something he keeps dear to him, which is always on his immediate person, except when it is his turn to wash.

Some think it is a good luck charm. Others think it memorabilia. Still others believe it is some proof of identity -- something to force the Commander into favoring himself.

And so, when L-elf returns to the barrack one night, he crawls into bed, closing his eyes before reaching underneath his pillow. His fingers touch cloth and nothing more. So he sits up, frowning, and tries to still his racing heart as he flips his pillow over, leaning left and right over both edges of the bed.

"I put it underneath the pillow," he recounts to himself, "And then I went to shower. The barrack door was locked then. Out of the five others here, only three dislike me enough to attempt to steal something of mine. And of the three..."

G-sechs wakes to a bright light in his eyes and a deathgrip about his collar.

"What the -- "

"The conclusion I am led to believe is," L-elf intones, "That you are the thief."

Their other four roommates are wide-awake at this point. G-sechs sweats and scrabbles, but they won't do anything. They've seen the other boy taken on a dozen others at once, slaughtering them all without making much effort. And so, they watch the spectacle.

L-elf angles the flashlight somewhat lower.

"Where. Is. It."

"What are you talking about?" G-sechs scoffs, "Get off me, you goddamn cheater!"

L-elf shines the light straight at him again, tightening his grip. And then he repeats himself.

G-sechs makes to say something, but chokes halfway. The grip on his throat eases up somewhat and he manages to rasp out: "If you're talking about that clump of hair, I threw it out the window!"

"You _what_."

"Yeah! So what! Are you gonna kill me? We're all going to die in the end, haven't you realized? Have fun reminiscing in hell, you bas-"

He's cut off with a full-force fist to the face, seeing stars and bleeding from the nose and lip.

One of the roommates who didn't conspire against L-elf clambers down from his bunk then.

"L-elf," he tries, "What are you doing?"

The other boy doesn't respond.

"L-elf, it's the middle of the night -- where are you -- "

Once again, the others are made to watch as the best of their class suits up for a hike in the snow.

"C'mon man," H-neun tries, "It's dark as hell outside, why don't you try to look for it tomor..." he cuts his own reasonable suggestion off when L-elf turns to look at him. After having seen so many empty, listless, and outright homicidal glances, somehow this vivid and quiet fury is what scares him the most. He swallows hard, backing away, and none of the other three make any further effort to stop him.

"He's going to die out there," X-eins declares.

"Good fucking riddance," J-vier snorts.

-

The blustering cold is made significantly worse by the lack of sunlight and though every fiber of his being is screaming to turn back, L-elf pushes on.

He is so completely angry, he promises himself that, if he is unable to find the half of a life, he'll raze the barrack -- no, the whole school -- to the ground as recompense.

It was her gift to him. And therefore: _his_.

With his flashlight, he shines a light up to the now-open window. Someone calls out, but the shout is lost in the oncoming snowstorm.

Although he's bundled in heat-retention gear, the cold is still biting -- miserable, really. And still, he tries to calculate where the lock of hair might have sailed -- depending on how hard G-sechs had thrown it, at what angle he would have lobbed it, which way the wind was blowing... so on and so forth.

But there are too many factors and with the storm, he is worse off than looking for a needle in a haystack. Assuming the gift was initially visible, it was now almost certainly covered.

And still, like a man possessed, he searches, ambling here and there, pawing through the snow and dirt, crouching down and curling up and dreaming up ways to make the perpetrator bleed.

-

Mikhail is near-dead from hypothermia when Lieselotte -- against all odds -- finds him. She had been following the trail of runes, led on by the touched hairpin, but it was dumb luck that causes her to stumble into the snowdrift he had almost froze in.

"Ah...!" she exclaims, pressing a hand to her mouth. "You're alive!"

"Oh," the boy answers, raising his torso somewhat and blinking blearily at her, "It's you. What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you," she honestly responds, "But I -- I was told..." she shakes her head, concentrating on the matter at hand, "You need to go to the hospital. Can you stand?"

He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," he says, "You gave me half your life and I lost it."

Is that what this is about, Lieselotte wonders. It all seems so absurd.

"You haven't lost it," she insists, "You're still alive, so stand up, please."

But he only shakes his head again.

"I'm tired," he slurs, "And you're here. That's enough." And with that, he lies back down to rest his head against the snow.

Lieselotte panics and in panicking, brings forth a staggering amount of runes.

"Mikhail," he hears, as he's being carried through the air on golden wings, "Mikhail, please don't die."

He smiles, leaning closer, feeling strangely fulfilled that they were now truly acquainted with one another.

-

When L-elf next wakes, he is in the medical bay of the Karlstein Institute. He rises with a start, nearly hitting the princess, before freezing up.

"You -- " he stammers, "You're here. So... so then it wasn't a dream?"

"I can't stay for long, unfortunately," she answers, casting her eyes down, "Cain will be back soon and I need to be gone before then." The head of the medical ward was a Royalist, which was why Mikhail had been permitted treatment at all.

"But you came."

"I -- " she blinks furiously, "I -- "

Her try at stoicism falls flat from the get-go when she throws her arms about his shoulders, causing him to start.

"I'm so sorry, Mikhail," she whispers, "I'm sorry for sending you to this place and I'm sorry that I can't take you out of it."

"...What?" it takes a moment, like usual, for him to parse the sincerity of her words. He wants to return the embrace at least, but can only work up the nerve to place a hand on her head. "Don't be," he insists, "Whatever you may think, I'm -- I'm happy to be alive."

She releases her grip to look at him with tear-streaked cheeks.

"Really?"

"Really." The 'thank you for saving me -- again' went without saying.

She cries a bit more at that, for reasons he'll never understand. When she pulls away -- too short and never enough -- the front of his shirt is damp and his heart feels like a coat, three sizes too small.

Desperate to continue the conversation, anything to keep her from leaving, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind:

"How did you find out my name?"

"Oh, that -- " she sniffles, "I saw it on your records. I was told you were M-7, and when I saw he had died, I thought the worst, but then..."

The realization makes his breath catch and he finds it very hard to speak.

"I -- I _was_ M-sieben," he starts, "But not anymore. Now I'm known as L-elf."

"L-elf," the princess repeats. Her lips curl down somewhat. "I think Mikhail is better."

More than anything, he wants to kiss her.

"You can call me Mikhail," he offers, atempting nonchalance.

The moment is interrupted with the return of the Royalist doctor. He is impressed L-elf woke up so soon and wants to run some tests. Lieselotte stays for an hour or two, but as before, they steer clear of meaningful conversation. And though they skirt against the question of 'when will I see you again', it is never truly breached.

When the parting comes and he finds himself filled with the need to giver her something -- a declaration, a trinket, the world -- all he manages to say is: "Don't forget me."

Of course he stutters while saying it too.

But her gaze softens and she brushes her fingers against his face and he tries very hard to not lean into the contact or, worse yet, seize her hand.

"I would never," she quietly replies.

The princess leaves as she came, snuck out with the supplies. They make no promises and speak of no concrete plans. But the meeting is worth the loss of the gift; he'd have gladly lost everything to see her again.

L-elf is ten years old when he falls in love.

-

Like a thief, she sneaks back into the castle in the dead of the night, forgoing the elevator to tiptoe up the stairs. She's rather pleased that she can clamber alongside the balconies without the help of runes, pursing her lips about a smile as she slips back through the already-broken window.

When she expends the last excess in fixing the window, someone begins to clap.

She whirls about to come face-to-face with Cain. He stands on the other end of the room, illuminated by his own supply of runes.

"Welcome back, princess," he greets.

"Good evening," she answers, curtsying in-turn.

"Where are you returning from, so late at night?"

Were it Amadeus, she would have lied without hesitation. But because Cain had been with her longer and because Cain was, after all, the one who had saved Mikhail's life, she pauses, contemplating her possible answers. Like with all the lifetimes before, Cain does not shirk from her gaze. Stemming from their familiarity or her desire for another ally, she manages to see something like kindness in his usual steel-blue gaze.

"I was at the Karlstein Institute," she answers, choosing her words with care, "For I had heard that the boy had died."

He raises an eyebrow at her answer, but does not seem fully surprised.

"I -- " she feels it necessary to continue, "I discovered that the report was merely a clerical error. And that he is still alive."

Cain walks over to her then, crossing the threshold in six wide steps. He is still glowing, though it seems he has dimmed himself, somewhat. He towers over her for a fraction of a second before crouching down. And, even crouched down, he is still taller than her.

His illuminated hand is immense and she feels it will cover the whole of her face. This being Cain, she would just as well shirk from him as she would from Amadeus. His touch is as foreign yet gentle as she remembered it to be, stroking her cheek before loosely grasping her chin.

"Is that why," the commander murmurs, brushing his thumb against her lower lip. The strangeness of the touch sends an unfamiliar shiver down her spine and her vision swims, just a bit. Enough that he is able to trace her lower teeth with the same thumb.

Her ears feel stuffed with cotton and she needs to strain them to hear the rest of his question.

_Is that why you overfed, then?_

She cannot lie to him, not when she's looking right at him. So she gives a weak little 'yes', guilty as charged in her submission, and he removes his hand, at least. She closes first her mouth and then her eyes as he traces the painted corners, rose and lilac.

And just like that, he retracts entirely, standing up.

"I see," he says, extinguishing his light entirely as if their interaction had been a cursory whim. "I shall see you at the next feeding, then. Good night, Lieselotte."

"Wait!" she stammers, grabbing onto the edge of his cloak, "That is... I mean..." she shouldn't feel like such a mischievous child, not because of this, "Will you tell Amadeus?"

Cain does not reply for a while. When she finally chances a gaze up, she sees that he's been looking at her for a while.

"Who else," he murmurs, tugging the fabric from her fingers, "would have sent me here, Lieselotte?"

And she flusters, anguishing that, between the two of them, she will likely forever be a faceless formless powerless child.

He kneels down and presses his lips to her brow before truly leaving and she sprints back to the innermost chambers, throwing herself against the mattress. Despite the overwhelming emotions and the staggering sense of exhaustion, she tosses and turns until well past dawn.

At least Mikhail is alive and well, she reminds herself, drifting off at last to a listless slumber.

-

Amadeus is waiting for Cain in a similar manner. The difference in their encounter being, Cain is perpetually cognizant of his surroundings.

The Führer is seated in the shadows, toying with a goblet of wine.

"I've returned," Cain notes, shrugging off his mantle and coat.

"And?" the other man prompts, "How was she?"

"Well enough. Somewhat fatigued, but not truly exhausted."

"The people responsible are dead," he notes. Scowls.

"Even the boy?"

"Not him," _Not yet_.

"I see." Cain walks over, resting a hand on Amadeus' shoulder. "You might want to stem the problem at its source. It seems she took the journey simply because she thought him dead."

"I cannot understand her fondness for these creatures," Amadeus confesses, setting down the goblet to raise his hand into the light, turning it this way and that. "There is nothing remarkable about them, save for there being so _many_ of them."

"She's young," Cain repeats, "She'll come around."

"How amusing, coming from yourself," Amadeus answers, turning towards him and slanting his gaze. He brings his hand back to clasp about Cain's. "Don't think I haven't noticed your interest in those mortal toys."

"The Valvraves? They're hardly mortal."

"A man designed them."

"But they're powered from runes."

"I suppose." Amadeus has a displeased expression, the one he wears when speaking too much of mortals. Cain covers his eyes, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck.

"There are positive aspects," he says. Not for the first time.

"Refresh my memories, dear commander," his Emperor commands.

After the private lesson, when they are sated but not soothed, Cain pauses in the midst of dressing himself and asks: "Would you like me to kill the boy?"

"Not at the moment," Amadeus admits. He smiles the smile of conquerors. "He is a nuisance, of course, but if Lieselotte likes him so, he may suit our purposes yet."

"Very well."

And Cain thinks: so long as Amadeus wills it, so long will the boy live.

-


	5. Sonderwunsch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. a special request

64 UC

Stuck perpetually in her high tower, it is a rare instance that Lieselotte receives visitors, least of all an invitation outside. But when the newly-initiated Captain of the Guards sweeps into her quarters, saluting her as if she were someone who mattered, she doesn't quite understand the situation until the summons are placed directly before her.

Her presence, the ornately-scribed letter states, has been requested by Grand Duchess of Bayern -- on account of her execution. What the second cousin of her father (of this child's father) had done to deserve execution, Lieselotte does not know. But she must have had friends in high places, in order to pull enough strings to request an audience with her.

What could this relation want? A pledge of allegiance, or perhaps a favor? Though she wasn't capable of much, she wants to do all that she can.

"Your Highness?" the captain asks.

"We consent," Lieselotte answers, reaching into her pocket for her royal seal. She signs and stamps the document and when the guard kneels to receive it, she leaves her hand extended, allowing him to kiss it.

"Thank you very much," the man murmurs, "I'll give the Grand Duchess your message right away."

Unlike with Cain or Amadeus, the touch of this person does not affect her so. Part of it, she reasons, must stem from the child's own training. The princess was meant to ascend to the throne, after all, and in these sort of circumstances, she -- Lieselotte -- defaulted to the royal 'we'.

Not for the first time, she finds herself wondering what the girl must have felt -- and what sort of life she lived. Unfortunately, her unwarranted takeover has left her with no access to the previous princess' memories so her guesses remain guesses. The girl exists as a ghost, in muscle memory mostly. Still, she must have been a wonderful princess, for how easily she dresses herself in imperial garb, and how practiced her flourishes are. A salute there, a curtsey here, a twirl-by-twirl for the awaiting counselors...

Lieselotte stops before the full-length mirrors, looking over her own reflection.

"Princess," she whispers, touching the mirror's cheek, "If you can hear me, I want you to know I'm sorry."

So she's said time and again, to host after host. But there is never any response, no sign that the form had another occupant.

She exhales lightly before retracting her hand.

The audience was in two day's time. She could read up on the Grand Duchess' circumstances, at least.

-

It comes as a surprise, to see Amadeus -- without Cain -- sitting in for the execution. As she learns later, the Grand Duchess had indeed possessed many sympathizers in the higher ranks. Although her title and lands were returned to the state, there were those who remained loyal to her. As recompense for failing to stop her death warrant, they had fought to make the execution into an imperial event.

"Crown Princess," the elegant albeit aged woman addresses, bowing low, "You have my utmost thanks for taking the time to come here."

She pointedly ignores the Führer, seated in Lieselotte's immediate left atop a noticeably higher throne.

"We are sorry to meet under such circumstances," Lieselotte answers, the practiced nuanced tones of the court dialect rolling off her tongue. "But pleased nonetheless to see our beloved aunt once more."

"If I may...?" the duchess asks, standing up and making a smooth gesture to the steps to the throne.

"We permit it," she allows, without looking to Amadeus.

"Oh Princess...!" it seems there is some fear yet in the woman, for she throws herself at Lieselotte's feet at the top of the steps, "I am so sorry for coming to you in such a state. I know there is no help for me, but if you will save my son -- he has been sent to one of those camps and stripped of his titles and names -- I will be forever grateful." While saying this, the guards advance up the stairs, and Lieselotte must raise her hand. Only in this sort of ceremony, is such a gesture enough.

"We were not aware that a cousin of ours was unaccounted for," she had been under the impression that the other members of the royal family were either brought into the Magius' fold or killed. And here, finally, she turns to Amadeus: "Is this true, our Führer?"

Amadeus smiles, index finger tapping the curve of his cheek.

"Not to my knowledge, Your Highness," he murmurs, taking pleasure in continuing the role-play.

"What is his name," Lieselotte prompts, turning once more to the Grand Duchess, "Of this cousin of ours?"

"August Maximillian. He is my youngest son and the only one -- " she chokes, losing control of herself for a moment, "The only one left. Please, Princess, if it is within your power at all, please see to it that our bloodline does not eke out entirely!"

She feels the same tightness in her chest as when Mikhail had been declared dead. So she slips off her thone, taking care to stay as close to her seat as possible (so as not to force the Grand Duchess off the dais), and raises her arm.

"We will make every effort to ensure his safety," she proclaims, "So we will swear it, on the seal of the Seven Dragons, the imperial insignia of Dorssia."

"Hail, Dorssia!" the guards declare, as one.

The Grand Duchess' eyes are watering as she pushes herself to her feet.

"Thank you," she murmurs, "Thank you, thank you so much, Princess. I am truly sorry I could not see your father off, but you are like him in the best of ways."

Lieselotte smiles, allowing the other woman to kiss her hand. This time, the contact makes her shiver.

Her smile falters as the Grand Duchess makes her descent, and she must bite into the inside of her cheek to keep from shirking when the blindfold is inevitably fitted into place.

Amadeus is kind enough -- to her, at least -- to cover her eyes when the soldiers -- the same soldiers who had conspired to bring about this audience, the same soldiers who would later face a similar punishment for Loyalist sympathies -- line up their rifles.

"Blitzendegen!"

And then, it is over.

And Lieselotte realizes, the girl must have loved the Grand Duchess. For why else would she be crying so?

-

Cain, meanwhile, begins to truly observe the princess' choice in peasant then. L-elf, as he was so insistent on being called, was really not bad, for a mortal being.

He was young and easily molded and more than that, he was constantly molding himself. He was able to make snap judgment calls in seconds and follow orders to a 'T' when not directing. Whichever team he was in -- regardless of following or leading -- tended to have the best results, whether it was reconnaissance or straight-up murder. His reflexes were now undoubtably top of the class and in one-on-one combat, there were rumors that he could fight some of the instructors to a draw.

The rise in interest does not go without notice, specifically from the boy himself and, with him, the other Karlstein students. Whenever Cain is patrolling, on-site, in the fields, or even in the canteen, he feels the boy's vision focused on him. Was he waiting for something? Acknowledgement or degradation, perhaps?

Cain humors him -- and the rest of the Institute -- soon enough, calling L-elf out for a one-on-one practice sparring session. Despite the latter's unpopularity, a veritable crowd shows up. Of course, this being Karlstein, there is no cheering, only the hushed murmur whenever Cain lands a hit. And he ends up landing many a hit as the boy's defenses were, well, below satisfactory, to say the least.

But L-elf does get a hit in, that much Cain must concede. And though the hit isn't enough to hurt him -- perish the thought! -- it nonetheless makes him think.

There were quite a few years left on this body, but he had always kept one eye open for promising secondaries. Of course, he had never bothered looking at children, as they tended to need so much more development and one could never be certain where they would end up -- and how much potential they could achieve -- by adulthood, but with the boy Lieselotte had saved...

Some time after the sparring match, Cain asks L-elf to come see him in private, in his office. He is given special permission to return to the barracks after curfew and his roommates -- especially X-eins -- are beside themselves with envy.

"Commander," L-elf greets, saluting him before stepping in.

"Ah, L-elf," Cain says in-turn, "Right on-time, as usual. Come, sit down. It's extremely unlikely we'll be sparring in this environment, in any case, the Director will not be happy if I misplace any more files."

The boy does as told, seating himself in front of Cain.

"Now, as I'm sure you know, you're made remarkable progress, especially coming from a place where no formal training was given." Cain flips through the records of note, showing them to the other: "Your physical capabilities have practically tripled since coming to Karlstein and you are easily at the top of your class."

And still, L-elf says nothing.

"So I would like to ask you this," Cain presses on, "What is your driving force?"

L-elf blinks.

"...What?"

"What do you hope to achieve, by the end of the Institute? What is the difference between you and someone like, say, K-acht?"

"That -- " L-elf falters, and for once, looks away.

"Oh, you needn't worry about recording devices," Cain reassures, "This whole meeting is off the books. But I am interested. Is it vengeance? Ambition? What do you have, that the other students lack?" Humans were truly unusual, he thinks once more, to have so much variation in the same species.

The boy looks from side to side before making eye contact again.

"You already know why," he says, cheeks tinted with the lightest blush.

Now that, Cain really was not expecting.

Love? At the boy's age? Or any significant romantic emotion, from brief meetings like those?

He thinks of himself and his own various entanglements and how long it took, for him to even warm up to the idea of sharing his passions with another. Though Amadeus was neither the first nor last, he was the closest to Cain's rank and, in fact, the only one higher. He can't imagine experiencing the same amount of loyalty after two short meetings.

"I see," he says at last, dipping his head as well. Had Amadeus foreseen this? Was this how L-elf would slot into the Führer's plans? "Well, as you know, I am closely acquainted with the crown princess. A guardian come protector of sorts, whatever the situation may call for."

"...I know."

What other species could look at him with a gaze approaching envy?

"Be that as it may," Cain concedes, clearing his throat, "My current position requires me to stay away from the palace for extended periods of time." It's an absurd suggestion, one that -- although Lieselotte and the boy would enjoy -- Amadeus would throw a fit over. And still, it is no skin off _his_ back, so why would he not offer it? If nothing else, it would be interesting, at least. "Therefore, I was wondering if you would be open... inclinated, so to speak... to the idea of additional lessons."

"Additional... lessons?"

"To improve your combat skills so that you may one day replace me as the princess' primary guard."

The way L-elf looks at him then, like a deer caught in the headlights, or perhaps a beggar before a king's feast. Either way, his whole body freezes for a couple seconds before he, in one swift motion, stands and salutes.

"It would be an honor, Commander."

"Very good," Cain smiles, standing as well. "I shall see you tomorrow morning then, at daybreak, on the training fields. Blitzendegen."

"Blitzendegen!"

-

Unsurprisingly, the low opinion the Institute had of L-elf sinks further with the announcement that the boy would be receiving private lessons from the commander and had three days per week off from normal duties. It didn't matter to the other children that these three days were more grueling than the Institute's normal regiment and though most realized how unlikely it was, they liked to imagine L-elf was helping the commander with paperwork in a heated room.

It made him easier to hate, then.

As for L-elf's roommates, the ones who had previously taken the higher ground were now further tempted to snub him. That he never made any overtures (or semblance of camaraderie) only furthered the slight.

Back before L-elf had been transferred into their bunk, X-eins had regularly been the first to return. Now it is a privilege that only comes when the other was away for training or in-line for the showers. He flops down on the bottom bunk and wedges his clasped hands behind his head, contemplating.

If it weren't for L-elf, he would have had the highest marks in the psychological warfare exercises. If it weren't for L-elf, he would have been the stoic loner. If it weren't for L-elf, he might have conspired to extend their stay at the Institute. But with the rate his roommate was slaughtering their fellow students, it seemed like an early graduation was imminent.

And still, though the other was uncommunicative at best and a fatal liability at worse, it was difficult to grasp enough of his character to truly _hate_ him. There was the incident with the lock of hair, speaking of which. He and H-neun had wagered that L-elf would vault up through the window and give G-sechs a torturously slow death. But he had been out for two days only to be discharged from the medical ward, no less! Where was the medicine for _their_ ailments, he gripes. Where was the salve and gauze for _their_ battered and broken bodies?

Nonetheless, L-elf had returned and made no comment to any of them, though it was possible he had Words with G-sechs in private.

H-neun joked that their roommate might have ties with the royal family, for all the special treatment he received. It would have made things more palatable, but X-eins can't shake off the suspicion that L-elf came from similar circumstances as the rest of them.

Which of course begged the green question: why him and not me?

Thankfully, H-neun throws open the door then, stopping X-eins from running in circles.

"Just showered?" he asks.

"For one minute," the other boy answers, wincing, "The hot water cut off halfway."

"I see."

H-neun makes to climb up the bed, but he misses the second step and falls down hard, taking the ladder with him.

"Fuck," he groans, not even moving.

"What happened?" X-eins demands, getting up and pulling the ladder off. H-neun makes another pained noise, clutching at the side of his leg, while X-eins puts the ladder back in place. "Well?" he presses, as the other boy makes no effort to get up.

"They'll be taking that bunk soon," H-neun says by way of explanation, gesturing to the bed closest to the window.

J-vier had died too, then.

"I see," X-eins says, swallowing. "Did you see him?"

"He bled out in the showers, how could I not?"

The obvious _this is going to be us, one day_ remains the elephant in the room.

Rather than deride or console, X-eins steps over his friend to return to his former reclining position. The minutes tick by in silence, until H-neun gives an audible exhale, pushing himself to his feet with practiced ease and climbing up to his own bed in three motions. X-eins closes his eyes when he hears the bedsprings, putting his glasses aside in the meantime.

"I want to go back," H-neun says. As he's said before.

"There's nothing to go back to," X-eins answers. As he's answered before.

"So is this all there is? Kill and kill and wait to die?"

"I'm not going to die."

"Do you think J-vier or I-zehn wanted to die?!"

"I'm not going to die," X-eins repeats. "I'll kill whoever I need to in order to survive. And when we graduate from here, I'll take as many more lives necessary. Whatever the commander asks."

"I hardly even know you anymore," H-neun scoffs, "What happened to the nerd who liked to read?"

X-eins says nothing.

The silence is broken with the intrusion of the overseers, masked and armored individuals in charge of day-to-day regulations. They enter the room without knocking and take the spare bunkbed without ceremony, coming and going in a matter of minutes.

H-neun knows he should be happy at the increase in space. The fact that the bed was taken so quickly meant there wouldn't be more recruits. For this graduation class, at least. But he can't even look at the blank space with the bed used to be, for how sick and filled with bile he feels.

"I found out the graduation exam," he announces, wanting to get it off his chest.

"Oh? What is it?"

"Two students in an empty room. The room will unlock itself when one has died. Friends are preferred."

"I see." It's too much to ask for, what with the hundreds of cameras, that the examination proctors would overlook their closeness. Well, X-eins reasons, if L-elf knew of this, then that explained why he hadn't killed G-sechs off the bat. Even rationalizing it like this, he's unable to quell his own rising anxiety.

"What are you going to do?" H-neun asks. And then, when X-eins doesn't answer, he asks again.

"Did you hear me?" he tries, reaching down to rap against the bedpost, "I said -- "

"What do you want me to say?" X-eins snaps, "That you can kill me?!"

"I thought you might have a plan at least -- "

"I don't. And I don't see the point in talking about this, so good-night." With that said, he turns over and pulls the pillow over his head, muffling out the complaints H-neun isn't able to voice.

-


	6. Sanftmut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. the courage to be kind

65 UC

-

Between talk of the graduation ceremonies and rumors of further lessons in an undisclosed location, L-elf realizes it has been more than a year since their last meeting. Although he doesn't regret trading the lock of hair for seeing her, however convoluted the trade was, he still finds himself missing it, on the by and by.

In the nights when he's too tired to practice mental conditioning, he lets his mind drift to those fleeting moments. So many things don't make sense, from her saving him to Cain training him to protect her, but try as he may, he can discern neither motive nor advantage. It was kindness bordering on pity, that much he is certain, that caused the crown princess to save him. And the commander must have felt some affection for the princess, for his lessons were actually good. Sure, L-elf was worked to the bone at the end of them, hard-pressed for enough energy to bandage himself, but in the following months, the distance between himself and the other students widens further.

"Aerial combat: C, Nighttime operations: B, Engagement without fatality: D," Cain recites as L-elf scrambles to catch his breath. He lands on his feet and rolls to break his fall, narrowly missing two shots from the automated turret.

"If it were me," Cain continues, "I would have taken the night vision goggles on the Waffe."

"None would fit," L-elf shoots back -- literally and figuratively. Cain nods and the two turrets, some dozen yards away, explode.

"That is understandable," he sympathizes, "But you should remember, L-elf, to make the most of any opportunity." With that said, he descends from his perch, missing his student by a hair.

"Holding your breath to hide your position?" Cain smiles, "My, you are a fast learner." He allows the cat and mouse game to progress for a couple minutes, drinking in the handful of errors. He would have waited until the boy exhausted himself, had his phone not rung.

"Tsk," he chides, sidestepping a pitiful series of swipes to disarm the child, "I'm sorry L-elf, but the rest of the exercise will have to wait." He throws the boy to the floor as one might pat someone on the back, snapping his fingers to turn on the floodlights. During a training exercise, there were only two parties which could reach him direct: Amadeus or the Council. Unfortunately, the caller is the latter.

"Cain here," he intones, absent-mindedly watching the boy pick himself up, "How may I be of service?"

"The Council requests your immediate presence," one of the non-Magius members responds.

"I'm two days away."

"He's at the Karlstein Institute," Amadeus explains.

"We will see you in two days then," the current head of the Council commands, and with his command, the call is cut.

The boy is on his feet at least, though his neck and shoulder are sporting bruises. Cain purses his lips, pocketing the phone before a whimsical idea worms its way into his mind.

"L-elf."

"Sir?"

"How would you like to come with me to Dorssia?"

Like when he had first offered additional lessons, the boy does a double-take.

"To Dorssia?" he repeats, "The capital?"

"Mm," Cain reaches over, patting his head, "As a reward for your progress." According to reports from the head guard and personal visits from Amadeus, Lieselotte was still moping over the Grand Duchess' execution. And seeing as how Amadeus was already at the council meeting, it seemed as good a chance as any to see how the children got along. The boy was as single-minded as ever, but there was always the chance _this_ would be the iteration Lieselotte tired on unapproved company. One had to keep hoping, after all.

In the midst of his own machinations, he misses the boy's response. It's a firm yes, of course, and their departure on the first shuttle at daybreak, in open sight of the patrolling students, further fuels the fire.

-

L-elf's expression has been schooled into one of silence at least, though his age betrays him in the end, and he is impatiently tapping his foot throughout the latter half of the second day.

The rest of the world could hate him and he wouldn't give a damn.

-

When the head guard announces a visit from Cain, Lieselotte would have never guessed on an additional guest. Even _seeing_ the boy in Institute garb feels like a dream.

She freezes mid-greeting, unable to believe her eyes, and instinctively looks to Cain for guidance.

"Lieselotte," Cain addresses, pushing the boy forward, "Don't tell me you've forgotten your orphan boy?"

"Mikhail...!" she gasps, covering her mouth in surprise, "Mikhail -- is it really you?"

He walks over and bows. Then he straightens up and looks at her and of course he's still taller than her and... he seems at a loss for words, opening and closing his mouth. While Lieselotte searches his expression for an answer, Cain gives a lackadaisical wave before excusing himself.

"I'll come pick him up after the meeting," he adds, "Make sure to stay inside."

Mikhail startles when the door closes, at least, swiveling his head in time to see the lock turn. And then he's tensing and relaxing and looking at her and tensing again.

"Mikhail..." she tries again. He looks as uncertain as when they had first met. She wants nothing more than to ease the crease from his brow, but he flinches away from her touch.

"Ah -- " she murmurs, pulling away as if struck herself. The one-two motion elicits some response from him, at least. He reaches out, holding onto her shoulder. Is he trying to steady her, she wonders. And then her gaze drifts back to him and he takes his hand away.

The impasse continues until, at long last, he says her name. She nearly fails to catch it, for how fervently she is searching his face. But it is her name and it is his voice, small and desperate and so helpless, it is as if three years hadn't flown by. She reaches out again, touching his face this time, and his expression does fall this time.

"Mikhail,"

It's all she gets out before he sinks to his knees.

She follows him to the floor, hovering uncertainly about, until he rasps out, with his face still hidden:

"You remembered."

A familiar warmth wells up and her vision is quickly obscured.

"Of course I did," she mumbles against his hair, wrapping her arms about him. "How could I not?" _You're half my life,_ catches in the back of her throat. The declaration sounds like a bad joke, though she believes it more than ever.

She forgets to count the time. What might have been minutes feels like seconds. He shifts underneath her, reaching to rub the tears from his face, and when she pulls back, he's somehow helping her up.

"...Sorry," he mumbles, cheeks pink, "I... that is..."

"Don't be," she smiles, taking his hand and pulling him towards the dining table, "I'm happy to see you too," she adds, beaming. "Now, is there anything you want to eat?"

-

"Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Commander," the Leader of the Council states. He tilts his head, giving permission for Cain to go to the observers' deck. Amadeus is already seated there.

"They plan to have you fight," the Führer whispers, keeping his gaze trained on the Council.

Cain purses his lips but keeps quiet. Had they not been on Earth, this sort of hierarchy would have been unimaginable. Amadeus, the king, the son of the king, as anything other than leader! But as he is the individual Cain has sworn fealty to, he joins his master and listens.

"Number 23, if you would be amenable to reiterating the situation for the Commander?"

"Affirmative." Said Councilmember stands up and, with a flick of her wrist, projects a moving image against the central waterfall. "Six months ago, along the Kuiper Belt, we received reports of a fledgling government."

Renegade governments were like weeds. More than a dozen sprung up every year, declaring independence from ARUS and Dorssia. They were summarily crushed and rarely needed the leader of the Dorssian Space Forces himself to enter the fray.

"This is a recording of the conflict. The opposing side, you'll note, is the 516th Outer Fleet of ARUS." Number 23 flicks her wrist again and the recording begins to play. Cain immediately stiffens when the enemy combatant, an enormous humanoid robot, lets loose a burst of light upon attacking.

Like recognizes like. Or rather, he would know that spectrum anywhere.

"Runes," he identifies, despite himself.

"Yes," the Leader of the Council agrees, "Runes. It would seem that the deserters had succeeded, contrary to your report."

"That is difficult to believe," Cain replies, refraining from intensifying with 'impossible', "I killed the whole group myself. The results of their experiment are still buried beneath the Module."

"I can confirm," one of the JIOR Councilmembers echoes. "The units the Commander discovered are still under surveillance. I would have been notified if they had been disturbed."

"I see." As one, they turn to the central waterfall. "However, this new machinery bears significant resemblance to the ones Cain discovered."

"If I may...?" a more junior Councilmember starts. He's given permission with a wave and he scrambles to the center, projecting another image onto the water. "I believe the current model is an imperfect copy, as seen in the markings here, and here." He gestures to the zoomed-in parts, where runes are clearly leaking out.

"A human scientist then," someone else guesses.

"Likely more than one."

"How are they getting the runes?"

"Do you think they know of the Council?"

"Regardless of who they are, it is necessary that they are stopped. Therefore," he raises his hand, and the four-petalled flower appears, "I make the motion for the New Guinea Republic, along with their runic instruments, to be erased."

Ah, Cain realizes, so this was why he was called over.

"Commander," the Leader of the Council turns to him, "Do you accept responsibility for this task?"

"The Council's Will is my own," Cain recites, standing up and raising his hand as well.

"Very good."

"To the secrecy of our peoples -- " And here, Amadeus rises too.

"And the security of the world!"

The waterfall slows to a trickle and the council meeting comes to an end.

-

L-elf is in heaven. It is the only explanation for how Lieselotte is standing behind him with a comb in hand, studiously working through every tangled strand.

It's impossible to stay stoic, to remind himself that the visit was _temporary_ or that he had already learned to do without, when he had just had a whole bathtub to himself and was subsequently cleaner than he'd been in months.

Lieselotte is humming quietly and her touch is as light as air. He needs to concentrate to feel it, for how different it is from Cain's unyielding blows!

But in letting his guard down, he fails to keep the collar of the bathrobe pressed against his neck and when it inevitably slides down, the comb clatters to the floor as the princess gasps.

Seeing himself in the mirror, with the still-purple bruise peeking out, he thinks he looks magnitudes better than at the Institute. But then, a filling meal coupled with a warm bath would achieve the same result on anyone. He quickly pulls the collar up, averting his eyes and mumbling an apology, but the damage is already done.

"Let me -- " Lieselotte insists, stepping forward and prying at his grip.

"No, you shouldn't -- "

"But I _want_ to."

It's either the quiet strength in her gaze or his desire for her to see; somehow, he relinquishes his grip to her, again, and allows her to pull the bathrobe back, seeing more of his injuries.

But not the full extent.

"It doesn't bother me," he insists, when she does nothing but stare.

He watches her lips turn downwards, as she skirts her fingertips against his collarbone.

The contact makes his knees weak and his ears ring.

"I know," she quietly says, sliding the garment back into place. "Cain plans to make you into a soldier."

"I want to guard you, one day," he blurts out, coloring promptly.

She pats his cheek, at least, though her smile is still sad. "What would I need a guard for?" she asks, not entirely rhetorical.

He catches her hand then, and it is his turn to search.

"Lieselotte," he starts, incapable of beginning, except to use her name.

"Mikhail," she answers, softening her gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks, apropos of nothing.

Her expression falters, though, unlike him, she doesn't break down.

"What do you mean?" she asks, making no move to pull away.

"I mean," and then he prattles off the dozen or so observations he had made note of in three hours' time. It's every tiny detail, minutiae upon minutiae, and at the end, he sees her... well, flabbergasted expression and lamely concludes with: "All of this combined with the Commander allowing this visit leads me to believe that you are troubled by a tangible matter."

She slips her fingers from his grasp, looking down while worrying at her lip.

"I wanted to ask a favor from you," she admits, "But I know things are difficult for you too and, if I hadn't seen those bruises, then I -- "

L-elf forgoes propriety, seizing her hand and making her look at him again.

"Anything," he promises, " _Anything_." I owe you my life, twice over, whatever you desire I will make possible, somehow, is caught on his throat.

"I don't want you to prioritize this over your own well-being..." Lieselotte insists.

"What is it you want?"

"I want -- " it's an extremely selfish request, the sort of favor that led to nepotism being deposed of time and again, and still, she squeezes her shut and asks: "The Grand Duchess -- my father's cousin -- asked me to save her son before she was executed. I gave my word."

"And he's been sent to Karlstein."

"Yes."

"Do you know his designation?"

"I couldn't find that out," she apologizes, "But I know what he looks like." She breaks away a second time, running over to the bookshelves. There's a phobo wedged between one of the volumes.

It's of a young boy in royal ceremonial garb. His hair is a little lighter and he has one braid instead of two, but the resemblances are nonetheless striking.

L-elf memorizes the image at a glance.

"What do you want?" he asks again, "Do you want him out of the Institute?"

"No!" she shakes her head, "I've heard -- I've heard deserters are punished." Shot on sight.

"They are." And then he grins, a little mad, maybe, but mostly pleased at the chance to please _her_ , "But I won't get caught."

-

In the half hour before Cain comes to collect him, Lieselotte is unable to convince L-elf otherwise. And so he leaves the capital in noticeably higher spirits, eager to be of use.

-

It takes two weeks to surreptitiously locate the princess' relation. The search had been hindered somewhat, for his official name, like most royal names, had been too long for the system. He had subsequently been given the designation A-drei, A-3. Where the administrators pulled the three from was anyone's guess.

A-drei is with a group two floors down, more standoffish than social. He has some courage yet, L-elf realizes after the fact, for he still wore his royal braid in the open.

Regardless, it takes three months after that to secure enough supplies and find other students, so it would look like a group conspiracy, rather than a single sneak. That his own tracks needed to be covered goes without saying.

Because it is a favor _Lieselotte_ has asked for, nothing is left to chance. The five other students are all secret Royalists, as is the transit guard. There are enough supplies to last a month and new identities from ARUS have already been secured with the promise of V97 missile schematics. He'd be hanged five times over and it would be worth every rope, so long as Lieselotte was pleased.

He can already imagine the smile on her face, the gratitude in her eyes. The warmth of her hands against his face, the thank-you on her lips. And if she asked for it, it wouldn't be impossible to have the other boy visit. There was still an industry for ARUS tourists, after all.

What he fails to factor in, is the meant to be rescued boy himself.

L-elf watches, slack-jawed and stunned, as A-drei shoots his would-be compatriots and then _sounds the goddamn alarm_. He's given a pat on the back for taking care of would-be deserters (to which he performs a most believable salute) and L-elf can only spectate underneath the snowdrift, fingers twitching at the resounding failure of an otherwise sound plan.

His dreams of eternal adoration and, oh, alright, maybe a kiss of gratitude, are shattered further when the graduation ceremony commences and he swiftly dispatches his partner at the 'start' signal, only to see A-drei having problems in the next room over.

It wasn't enough to foil his plans, no, he had to show his true colors as a Royalist at the worst possible time!

Realistically, both examinees were related to Lieselotte. However, she has only explicitly asked for the security of one.

L-elf shoots the less-favored relation before A-drei's eyes.

Rather than look angry or anguished, the other boy looks -- tired.

"That was supposed to be me," he says, brushing aside his braid.

"You shouldn't have come here," L-elf can't help biting out. Then he holsters the gun and walks away, attempting to calculate some form of exit for the other boy.

-

The graduation exams mark the end of their time at the Institute proper. The students who were not sent out in coffins were shipped off, instead, to the Institute's namesake, an abandoned village nestled between the eastern cliffs.

The success rate here is 95%.

As luck -- or, he suspects, Cain -- would have it, A-drei has been shuffled into his six-man team, along with two former roommates and two new faces.

Show me you can lead as well as follow, Cain had instructed at their final lesson following graduation, and I will take you to see our beloved princess once more.

He's a puppet at the end of a string, a dog on the end of a leash -- a servant waiting on hand and foot.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He couldn't save the boy, not from the path he chose. But he'll save _her_ , he promises.

-


	7. Ablenkungsmanöver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. distraction tactics

66 UC

-

As Cain is orienting himself in the newest Dorssian Waffe-fighters, he thinks how it has been a long time since he's been sent to the forefront of conflict. Although he climbed rank back in their original bodies as a soldier, that had been some millennia ago and now... he can hardly remember what he used to look like. Despite that, he can vividly remember the king himself asking for an audience and how he had been asked to guard the youngest royal child. Even when they had struggled to harvest enough runes, he had not been taken away from his main post.

The deceased king was nothing like the Council and if he had asked for Cain's services, he would have thought nothing of expending his own runes for the cause.

But the leader of the Council of One Hundred and One is an usurper if Cain has ever seen one, a power-grubbing worm who wouldn't have made guard back in their home world. It is only because Amadeus is humoring his rank that the other Magius listen to him.

Still, he cannot say he dislikes fighting, even in this form. It's a good opportunity to exercise less-used parts of the mind and he has not aged enough to be immune to the thrill of victory.

That was all the conflict against the New Guinea Republic was meant to be.

The reality is different, of course. All the specifications he had taken from the Valvraves -- from the very traitors who had created them -- are underestimations, and gross ones at that. He finds himself, along with the whole fleet, being _beaten back_. And by a human piece of technology! It's frustrating, it's humiliating, and there's no way in hell he'll go back to the council and report a failure. So he regroups and recalculates, thankful that he had been given uncontested command of the sizable Dorssian space fleet.

The logic of his counterattack is as follows: although the Valvrave was using Runes (and Magius technology), the obtuse scrap of metal was nonetheless controlled by humans. He therefore makes to attack one of the outer New Guinean bases, thinking to hold the commanders as hostage. When the left flank battle through the sizable defenses however, they arrive to find an abandoned sector.

At that point -- two and a half weeks into the conflict -- he had thought it was dumb luck. No matter, he convinces himself, he'll just ransom the next base.

Dorssian forces capture three more empty outposts before Cain is forced to realize: someone quite high up on both chains of command has been relaying information. It's ridiculous of course, he's one of the few commanders without a direct subordinate, but there was no one besides the Council to answer to. The thought of the Council playing both sides... and more specifically, using _him_ as a chess piece, makes his blood boil.

"Turn back," he orders, halfway through the third month.

"Back?" the nearest captain repeats, looking at him in disbelief.

"Yes, back," he snaps, "We've wasted too much time on this farce already."

"Back to where, Commander?" an even slower admiral asks.

"To Dorssia. This is a direct order from your commanding officers: all fleets reverse course at the present. Over." He hits the 'end transmission' button with more force than necessary before lacing his fingers and staring out at the stretches of space.

It was bad enough that the councilmen thought themselves better, that they enjoyed wasting his time was untenable.

He fails to account for how the deployment itself had been a distraction.

-

After two seasons spent in the same group, A-drei thinks he has his teammates figured out, save for L-elf. But as their top-seeded ranking was in large part due to L-elf's proficiency in... well, everything, none of them could be pressed too hard to complain. L-elf is of course the leader of their six-man team. H-neun and Q-vier provide firepower while O-sechs is the ranged sniper. He and X-eins are in charge of everything else, which generally falls into information and logistics.

Their group has placed first in all the simulations and they have subsequently been sent most often to active combat.

Karlstein graduates were diamonds in the rough, desperately sought-after by all branches of the military. Those that completed the hellish training were all but guaranteed a position of Lieutenant. It had been his family's final act of power, thrusting him into the Institute, and he has kept himself alive on the desire that his debts be paid.

X-eins is the most similar to him, he suspects, and perhaps L-elf too, if the other ever bothered with small talk. Q-vier has found solace in bloodshed, the only one in their graduating class who preferred hand-to-hand combat as it brought him closer to his victims. H-neun and O-sechs are the stereotypical soldiers, uninterested in the distant future so long as fighting would bring food to their plates.

He has long wondered how it was, that H-neun and X-eins were not only friends, but friends who had managed to survive one another. Q-vier hinted that the commander himself had intervened in their graduation ceremony, but A-drei couldn't see why. It was a wonder too, how O-sechs survived, as he was disturbingly talkative with a personality that bordered on niceness. Between giving up his rations and volunteering for the midnight guard, his tries at friendship put them all on-edge for weeks, until at last, they ease into the idea that somehow, someone like this managed to graduate as well.

But as for their leader... A-drei has nothing on him. Besides being an orphan and being the direct pupil of Cain, the other boy's long-term plans are a complete unknown.

Which is not to say he hasn't tried talking to him. They've all tried, at one point or another.

H-neun tries with a direct question:

"That's irrelevant," L-elf answers.

Q-vier tries with additional training:

"You need to improve your foundation. Footwork: D, Eye-hand coordination: B, Reactivity: B." Before he sheathes his dagger and walks off.

O-sechs tries with kindness:

"Don't bother with small talk. Our job is to tend to the fire."

Eventually, it's only X-eins and him left.

"I'm not interested," X-eins lies, propping up his glasses and sniffing, "If he doesn't want to share, what business is it of ours? Everyone deserves privacy."

"...That's more than you usually say," A-drei can't help but note.

"He's in denial," Q-vier sing-songs.

"I do agree that L-elf has a right to privacy," O-sechs smiles, ever accommodating.

"Yeah, but that much?" H-neun counters, "We've been following him for months and no one knows anything about him!"

"Maybe he's a Royalist," Q-vier shrugs. And then, at A-drei's tensing, he laughs, waving his hand, "We know you're not, A-drei, don't worry."

"I heard there's at least one in every squad," O-sechs mutters and for once, his expression looks dark. The conversation launches into what should be done if L-elf is indeed a Royalist and A-drei fights to keep from leaving.

It's as much a secret as his real name, the fact that his true loyalties lie with his family. Hearing the stories of life before Red Thursday -- specifically, the gluttonous transgressions of the ruling class -- make him nauseous. He's always been aware of the decadence and corruption, but to have the past brought so close... to the point where someone like O-sechs would hate him if he knew the whole story, he swallows twice, to keep the bile down.

This conspiracy ends with the usual inaction, interrupted by their leader, back from a scouting mission. At this point, they are comfortable enough with one another that they don't even bother hiding their mutiny. L-elf takes it in-stride, announcing that enemy troops have been sighted a 2 o'clock and that they'll be moving to engage in fifteen minutes.

Once in a while however, A-drei does catch L-elf looking at them with something bordering on interest. After they've been fed the military-approved story of him having sold out his own family, Q-vier and H-neun sometimes ask him about his old life. He doesn't speak freely and avoids embellishments, but sees no harm in sharing some of the more banal details.

It is in those recountings, few and far between, that something like -- like recognition -- glimmers in L-elf's eyes and A-drei wonders if the rumors of their leader being a Royalist have some truth.

His doubts are assuaged in the upcoming weeks when they've been brought back to the village and asked to guard the outcropping cliffs. It's an easy job, practically a vacation, and only later does A-drei learn L-elf pulled rank in order to get them there.

Once all five of them are assembled by the cliffside, L-elf pulls out his gun and chambers a round, leveling it point-blank at O-sechs.

"There was no way the Royalist troops should have seen our approach," he starts, as everyone else freezes, "And seeing as how my calculations of their movements have been accurate up until we were paired together, the conclusion I am led to is that you, O-sechs are a Royalist and a traitor."

"What?!" the other boy splutters, putting his hands up, "That's ridiculous -- how could I be a Royalist! I hate those bastards, my parents starved to death because of them!"

He should defend the other, this, A-drei knows. Although he hadn't given information to the Royalist troops, he was still an ideological traitor through and through.

O-sechs had been the kindest, despite his myriad tragedies.

If anyone was worth saving, then --

Right as he opens his mouth to protest, L-elf pulls the trigger. He closes his mouth, hating himself, and hates himself a little more as he and X-eins are tasked with rolling the body into the water.

"I like it," Q-vier grins, when they climb back from the edge. A-drei is about to chastise, before he sees what the other had been referring to.

 _Töten, nicht getötet_ , L-elf has carved into the rock face.

Better to kill than to be killed.

"Remember this," he says with neither venom nor vehemence, "Traitors will be killed."

The five of them salute, clacking their heels in an unscripted 'Blitzendegen' and A-drei lays his hopes of having a friend to rest.

-

When she thinks of her days in solitary confinement, the overarching emotion she remembers, after her reserves of frustration and desperation had been depleted, is boredom. Lonely days that bled into lonely nights, without beginning or end. Sometimes months flew by, other times, she could count the seconds and minutes.

She's allowed to pace the whole of her gilded cage and when Amadeus or Cain visit, her range of motion is extended to the lower floors and, at times, the outside grounds. On official visits such as the Grand Duchess' execution, she is permitted into the boarded-up imperial palace, a place where even beggars dared not go.

Unofficially -- that is, through Royalists or similar sympathizers -- she also gets access to the court library and the administrative archives. Neither are particularly thrilling, but they certainly provide more entertainment than her personal tomes, most of which have been thumbed some hundred times. At five years in, she falls asleep in the middle of the most exciting part of her favorite story and wakes up between the pages, smiling sadly at the memory of surprises past.

She is a relic in more ways than one.

As for other hobbies, she used to be allowed to ride and play in the gardens, but after the various edicts from the council and murmurs of dissent from the military junta, it seems baking and embroidery are all that remain.

She is halfway through sneaking out of the archives (after ascertaining both Mikhail and her distant cousin were still alive, albeit in Karlstein) when a familiar voice makes her freeze.

"Lieselotte?"

She blinks, hastily stuffing the stolen papers into the nearest shelf before turning.

"Brother," she smiles, "I was not aware you would be visiting."

He quirks his lips too, murmuring "Surprise" before opening his arms. She throws herself at him, eager as ever for his company, and he whirls her about in the archives, loaded questions set aside.

"You're getting taller each time I see you," he notes, setting her on the ground.

"Will I be as tall as you?"

"Perhaps," he ruffles her hair, "If you ate more vegetables and less sweets."

Lieselotte pouts and Amadeus laughs, lifting her up again. She does not complain when he goes back to her quarters, seating her down before the dresser before gingerly undoing her hair.

"Amadeus...?" she asks, looking at him across the mirror.

"While there's time, I thought you should learn a different way to arrange your hair," he explains. "It's getting quite long, after all."

"But I like how they are now," she protests, thinking all the while: this is how Mikhail remembers me.

"This style is very cute for mouse ears," Amadeus concedes, "But imagine when your hair is longer. You'll look like an elephant!"

Lieselotte makes another face and he pokes at her cheek.

"Here," he offers, "If you dislike it, I'll call the hairdresser in."

"But...!"

"Shhh."

She quiets down, at least, closing her eyes and tuning out the feel of fingers through her hair. She isn't _so_ attached to the previous style... but then it was the one Mikhail knew her by. Would he even recognize her if she changed? Or if she let down her hair? Well, all things considered, their first meeting had had him pulling out one of her hairpins so...

When she wakes herself from the reverie, Amadeus has just finished. He fastens the final pin in place before cupping her cheeks, dragging his palms from the side of her face to the tips of her ears.

"Well?" he asks, smiling at her in the mirror.

Seeing herself like this is so strange: her hair has been halved and then quartered so that the back wrapped around the front in a simplified braid. The unbraided strands dangle comically above her shoulders.

"I don't like it," she frowns.

"Alright, alright." He sighs and undoes his handiwork, calling for the hairdresser as promised. After the man comes and goes -- for he is as eager to please the Führer as he is to keep his distance -- Lieselotte's hair has been done up once more in its usual state and Amadeus looks for the most part unoffended.

"Is there to be another feeding?" she asks, curiosity piqued about the unannounced visit.

"Oh no. Not unless you're hungry."

"I'm not." She pauses, pursing her lips, before putting forth: "Is Cain alright?"

"Of course," Amadeus reaches over, tracing her matching eye details, "Do you miss him? He'll be back soon, don't worry."

"Mm," she catches onto his hand, shaking her head, "You're here."

He embraces as always, a warmth she remembers in every form, and though these memories are still tainted with some degree of guilt -- for here she was, seeking solace in the embodiment of the system she rejected -- she nonetheless keeps them close.

Amadeus is, after all, her only brother, so long as independent identities were concerned.

Even before he consents to spending the night, she realizes something is wrong. But Amadeus has spent too much time with Cain... or perhaps the other way around. Either way, she can extract no more information from her brother than she can from her guardian. A sickening sense of changes to come settles in her, even as she's pillowing her head against him, and she fears for a moment the part that desires peace will triumph over the rationale that demands change.

The fear subsides in the morning, when she wakes in his embrace, feigning sleep to remember -- this.

"Lieselotte," he calls, stroking her not yet undone hair, "Are you awake?"

"Mmph," she sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

As they've both gone to sleep fully dressed, and in their imperial robes to boot, she only ever sees the edge of a patch, on the outside of his wrist. It's so pale, the Council crest is practically a trick of the light. Amadeus is quick to pull his sleeve down, diverting her attention by touching her cheek.

"Lieselotte," he repeats, "I am going to leave something with you."

Her brow furrows at the unusual statement-come-request and she sees, in his uniquely perturbed gaze, that he is indeed looking for permission.

"Of course," she answers, "Whatever you wish."

He carefully takes her free hand then, lifting the wrist with one hand before pinching the base of the ring finger with the other. He lowers his head, making eye contact, and though there is no apprehension in her gaze, he hesitates all the same. Eventually, he grasps her little finger, biting it at the base.

Oddly enough, she doesn't feel pain, even when his teeth puncture skin. Rather, a similar warmth washes through her, leaving his ears ringing and the ends of her fingers and toes tingling.

"Amadeus..." she starts when it's over, once more at a loss for words.

"Thank you," he says, setting her hand back down before kissing her temple.

She's crying before she knows why.

-


End file.
